


Bridal Waltz

by Scruggzi



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Derring-Do, F/M, Fluff, Phrack wedding, Romance, Subterfuge, mild spanking, thwarting miscreants
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-21
Updated: 2018-07-21
Packaged: 2019-06-14 02:30:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15378732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scruggzi/pseuds/Scruggzi
Summary: “Marry me.”Alright, it wasn’t exactly a question.“Is that an order or a request?”“That depends, which of them is more enticing?”Well there really was only one answer to that.“Say it again.”Of course, things could never be that simple...





	Bridal Waltz

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Eara](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eara/gifts).



> This is one of those stories that started as a bit of harmless fluff which I wrote for Eara who loves married phrack either because she bossed an exam or wasn't well, it was a while ago and I can't remember. Then I forgot to finish it and somehow when I came back it had escalated and now I have no idea what it is but there's mild spanking and it's possible there are two weddings but technically no legal marriage.
> 
> Thanks muchly to Aurora_Australis for pointing out all the bits that didn't make sense. All the bits that still don't are my fault.

It was shaping up to be a nice day, Jack thought. There was nothing especially unusual about it, unless you counted the fact that they were now several hours into their holiday and there was still no sign of a dead body. They had strolled along the beach arm in arm, eating ice creams and enjoying the sunshine, trading stories and sharing thoughts.

After lunch Phryne suggested a swim, and after ogling him pointedly in his bathing costume in a way that made Jack feel ten feet tall, she proceeded to challenge him, first to a swim race – which she ‘won’, only by changing the rules at the last minute – and then to a splash fight. Which was what she had changed the rules _to_.

They were still submerged in the water up to their waists and panting with a mixture of exertion and laughter. Jack’s hair had long since lost its pomade and was flopping onto his face, and the drops of water that ran down Phryne’s neck were sparkling in the warm light of the hot spring day. She wasn’t entirely sure what made her say it. She had always been impulsive, it was one of the things she liked best about herself - and unplanned in the moment didn’t mean she hadn’t considered the matter at great length beforehand. There was no hint of uncertainty when she popped the question.

“Marry me.”

Alright, it wasn’t exactly a question.

“Is that an order or a request?”

“That depends, which of them is more enticing?”

Well, there really was only one answer to that.

“Say it again.”

 ***

They talked a lot during the weeks that followed, about what marriage would mean and what it meant to them. About what made it real and the things they each considered important - in a marriage and in a wedding. Clergymen were dismissed by both parties as unnecessary; the tepid faith of Jack’s childhood hadn’t survived the war, and Phryne, though uncertain if she believed in God, had never felt much compulsion to worship him, let alone involve him in any major life decisions. A registry office event was therefore scheduled and bans duly posted.

It was at this point that the trouble began. It started with the reporters, including their old friend Frederik Burn, as well as at least a half dozen others from the various society pages. They hung around the gate at Wardlow and outside City South, followed them to crime scenes and the morgue. It was not only irritating, but frankly it was making it difficult to get anything done.

In fact, from the moment the announcement appeared in _The Argus_ they barely had five minutes peace between them. The idea that Phryne Fisher was not only to be wed, but wed to a lowly civil servant, a divorcee, whose former family had graced the front pages in dramatic and scandalous circumstances? For the papers it was the gift that kept on giving, and for the detectives, it was almost enough to sour them both on the whole institution of marriage. In fact they seriously considered either elopement or cutting off the engagement entirely after the bastards dragged Rosie into it; the woman had suffered enough.

If it had been only the hounding by the press that would have been bad, but soon after their picture had appeared in every magazine in Melbourne, the letters began.

They were not well wishes.

Ironically, the vile missives and anonymous threats were what hardened Phryne’s resolve; Jack was worried, but the soon to be Mrs Fisher-Robinson had no intention of sacrificing this opportunity to host the grandest of grand affairs. No, she would not sacrifice as much as a canapé to appease some delusional fantasist, unable to understand the difference between loving a woman and owning her. As Jack had sardonically requested that they never attempt anything quite this foolhardy again, she put all her energy into throwing a wedding the likes of which Melbourne had never seen.

All of Melbourne’s fashionable society was in attendance, along with a considerable quantity of the unfashionable and unwashed. Most of the working population of City South were also present, lurking at strategic intervals and eyeing the exits. Hugh, standing up as best man for Jack, was practically vibrating with nervous pride. Mac, in an impeccable suit and cream silk waistcoat, had accepted the position of best woman; a title Phryne had devised herself, and whose primary responsibility was to walk her down the aisle.

Margret and Henry were in attendance, but Phryne had outright laughed in her father’s face when he dared to presume he would be giving her away. Tempers had cooled slightly by the time the day came around, but it had been impressed upon the Baron that his invitation was only issued under sufferance and could be easily rescinded. Aunt Prudence had been assigned the task of keeping the man in order, and between the two sisters he appeared suitably corralled and hopefully dissuaded from making trouble.

Dot had initially objected to her role in proceedings with a good-humoured laugh. “But I can’t be a bridesmaid Miss, I’m married.”

Phryne had quieted her with a determined look.

“What rot, you know I could never manage this without you, Dot. Besides, with Doctor Mac leading me to the alter, you’ll be a long way from the most scandalous part of the bridal procession.”

The outcome of this conversation was Jane and Dot, both looking beautiful in pale blue silk, holding up the train of Phryne’s gown as she made her way up the aisle. The gown itself was exquisite; an ocean blue mermaid sheath in rich, heavy silk, overlaid with a deeper, midnight blue train of embroidered organza and lace which stretched out behind in two long, curved points, like the elegant tail of a swallow. It rippled like water in the faint breeze that blew in from the window, but despite the fragility of its appearance, Dot had assured her that it would be proof against any or all accidents, incidents and misplaced toes.

Phryne beamed like the sun, basking in the attention, all eyes turned to her; her own eyes fixed on the man in the blue suit by the alter. Her partner, her Jack. He looked divine, all serious jaw and smiling eyes, and she could swear there were tears sparkling in those deep blue depths as he looked at her. He would never admit it, but Jack could be terribly sentimental in the right circumstances.

She could barely hear the sound of the registrar’s voice as he asked for their vows. Could not have told any of those present if she promised to obey – not that she would for a moment – but she could feel the gravel in Jack’s voice and the strong caress of his hand on hers as he placed the ring on her finger, and the tiny smile he kept just for her filled her heart and her whole world.

There was a susurrus towards the back of the hall. A nodding of heads and a nudging of elbows. The moment had come.

“I do.” It rang throughout the municipal hall, as improbable and beautiful as every declaration of love they had ever shared.

“You may kiss the bride.”

Their lips met, sealing the pact and baiting the trap. His hand was in her hair and hers had moved up to cup his jaw as they delighted in each other. A happy sigh went up from the assembled guests interspersed with sobs from the front row where Margret and Prudence were shaking in each other’s arms as Henry looked on, still slightly mutinous.

“Miss Fisher, look left!” It was Bert, right on cue.

Phryne drew back and for a split second she and her Inspector shared a very satisfied smirk.

“Dot, head right!” she yelled to her right-hand woman.

Jane and Dot broke off in one direction, still holding the gorgeous, embroidered swallowtail whilst Phryne took off in the other. The result was, that the man, staggering up the aisle brandishing a revolver and clearly the worse for drink, ran into a strangely solid barrier of heavy fabric and fell flat on his face, his weapon skidding off to one side where it was retrieved by Jane, who was swiftly relieved of it by Mac; the good doctor did not like the look in the young girl’s eye as she glowered at her guardian’s would be assailant.

“Rupert Bamberton,” Phryne drawled with heavy disgust, “I should have guessed it was you from the ghastly poetry.”

The godawful attempts at introducing rhyming couplets to the revolting letters had somehow seemed even more offensive than the rest of their vile contents, but the man had never let a pronounced lack of talent in that department dissuade him.

Jack was still standing at the alter next to a very shaken officiant, his head slanted to one side as he counted his many, many blessings and reflected that this was in fact _precisely_ what he had signed up for. He wouldn’t have had it any other way.

Raising a hand up and nodding to his best man, he caught the well-flung set of darbys his senior constable had kept in readiness, cuffed Bamberton - not especially gently - and pulled him to his feet as he placed him under arrest for attempted murder.

“The thing you should know about my wife, Mr. Bamberton,” he added, shoving the man into the welcoming arms of two burly constables who had a police wagon ready and waiting for him, “is that she is completely impossible to upstage.”

Phryne deftly unclipped the fabulous train, leaving her with only a whisper of lace to float around her hips over the silk, and complete freedom of movement for the evening’s dancing. She placed a hand on Jack’s chest for the simple pleasure of feeling him, solid and steadfast under her fingertips. Their eyes exchanged a wealth of additional promises to be redeemed repeatedly once all the guests had left.

“Come along Mr. Fisher-Robinson, I believe we have a party to get to.”

He nodded. “Lead the way, Miss Fisher.”

She would always be Miss Fisher to him.

***

Phryne was standing naked at her dressing table toying with the envelope the registrar had handed to her. A relaxed and slightly rumpled Jack rolled to his side to watch her.

“Attempting to dispose of the evidence?” he murmured, amused.

“What evidence? There’s nothing in here of any more significance than Mr Butler’s grocery list.” She rolled her eyes, “the only interesting legal event during that ceremony was your very deft arrest of a truly appalling poet.” Yet still, she toyed with the envelope, pondering the weight of its contents.

“I warned you about including so many of your old friends on the guest list; it was bound to lead to trouble,” Jack chuckled, as if that hadn’t been the plan all along.

Phryne dropped the envelope onto the table and returned to the bed, straddling Jack’s hips and leaning in to press a kiss to his smiling lips.

“And how does it feel to be the most envied man in Melbourne, Inspector?”

“Better by the minute from where I’m standing,” he growled, nudging his erection against her through the thin sheet to emphasise the double entendre.

“It isn’t really important you know, the paperwork, not to us.” It was a statement, but with perhaps the faintest hint of a question. She still found it hard to believe it was a sentiment Jack shared.

There had in fact been a little paperwork involved; an arrest warrant for example. Luckily the registrar - who had nearly lost his lunch after being shown one of Bamberton’s letters - had practically jumped at the chance to help catch the man. They had been assured of his discretion and had not been disappointed.

Jack cupped her cheek and held her gaze, letting her know he was serious.

“I think I have made my feelings about paperwork abundantly clear. Besides, a private ceremony without the likes of Frederik Burn breathing down our necks is well worth a little obfuscation in that department.”

“It is an exciting idea,” she kissed the corner of his mouth where it turned down, darting her tongue out to taste his lips, “living in sin and no-one any the wiser.”

 “Just what we need,” Jack deadpanned, hands moving to palm her backside as she began to rock against him, “more excitement.”

“Spoilsport.”

Jack gave her a glower that was far too serious to be serious and flipped her onto her back without warning, letting the sheet slide away as he positioned himself between her thighs.

“I am indeed, I can’t imagine why you married me.”

“Well you do have one or two assets to recommend you, Jack,” she said, gripping his arse and pulling him closer, gasping as he buried himself inside her.

He groaned, his eyelashes fluttering shut as he felt her inner walls embrace him. Gods she was exquisite.

“Just one or two?” he managed to rasp, nuzzling her neck, resisting the urge to move within her.

“Mmmm more,” she demanded, then smacked his arse when she realised he had done that on purpose.

He began to thrust into her, deep and slow.

“Do that again,” he growled into the skin of her neck.

“You’ll have to earn it first,” she breathed against his lips, relishing the push and pull of their banter and their bodies.

Jack spread her thighs wider, speeding up, adjusting his angle until he found the perfect spot to send her flying. His reward was another sharp slap to his arse as she spurred him on, dropping kisses and obscenities onto every part of his skin she could reach. He stilled inside her as she came, relishing her gasp and sharp scratch of her nails down his back. Her head still spinning, she rolled him over and rode him hard into oblivion before collapsing on his heaving chest, sated and satisfied in body and soul.

The night was too warm for her to fall asleep on top of him, so Phryne slipped off to one side and Jack rolled to face her, indulging in a besotted smile as he traced absentminded shapes across her hip with his fingers.

“You’ll make an honest woman of me yet,” she hummed into his lips as she kissed them, caressing the cheek of his arse where she had smacked it. She always did try to keep her promises.

“Heaven forbid,” he grinned sleepily, and kissed the tip of her nose.

***

Paperwork aside, their real wedding came three weeks later, after Henry and Margret had been packed back off to England and Jack had officially taken up permanent residence at Wardlow. There were no priests or state representatives in attendance. Only the important people, their little family, the ones who mattered, more than any contract ever could. Even Aunt Prudence, who was normally a stickler for the proper way of doing things, understood their desire for a quiet, private ceremony after ‘that terrible ruckus’ at the registry office.

They chose a deserted stretch of beach, several hours outside of Melbourne. The setting sun was still warm against Phryne’s skin as she took Jack’s hands in hers. The gentle breeze off of the ocean caught the skirt of her simple sundress, wafting it around their legs. Jack’s casual shirt sleeves and light knit vest made him look more relaxed than most of those present had ever seen him, and he smiled, his face open and unguarded as he made his vows.

The same vows for each of them.

To love each other as long and as well as they were able. To chase away the other’s shadows. To not let the weight of the world force its way between them.

Mr. Butler, in his capacity as unofficial officiant took great pride in pronouncing them man and wife, and the cheers when they shared an honest and artless kiss, rose up above the waves to mingle with the cries of the gulls, wheeling high and free above the ocean.

***

Somewhere at the back of an unregarded drawer in Phryne’s study, sat the envelope handed to her by the registrar. She had sealed it shut with a red wax seal bought especially for use on the wedding invitations; the letters F R were entwined in beautiful cursive within a simple art deco design. Suitably modern for their tastes; elegant rather than ostentatious.

As time passed and the steps of their waltz continued, the paper on the envelope darkened, yellowing with age as lines of laughter and of sadness creased their faces; the loving little marks of lives wound inexorably together in their own unique rhythm, the only kind they could ever dance to.

And as to what the envelope contained? Well that was nobody’s business but their own.     


End file.
